How World War I

Came

To Isolated Tonga

Memories by J. D. Whitcombe

NO overseas steamer had called at Nukualofa during June, July and August, 1914. Nobody could guess the reason why. We had no communication with other lands: radio had not been linked with Tonga, though Fiji had it.

On August 31, 1914. HMS Philomel arrived, bringing the news that England and her Dominions had declared war on Germany.

Philomel had been one of the ships to escort the main body of New Zealand troops to Samoa.

At the time, I was head teacher in the Government school at Nukua lofa, and I was asked to accompany the captain of the warship to the Palace, to act as interpreter if re quired. King George Tubou II re ceived us in the Throne Room, where the Commodore of the Philo mel informed him of the state of war and said that they were in Tonga to protect his Kingdom.

We then paid a visit to Herr von Treskow, the German Consul, ad vised him of the state of war bet ween our two countries, and instructed him to at once strike the German flag (then flying from his staff). This he promised to do, and the flag was lowered as we left the grounds.

There were one or two amusing incidents.

On the arrival of the cruiser nearly all the Europeans in Nukua lofa rushed to the wharf to find out what news she had brought. One well-known reverend gentleman (the Rev. R. .C, Page, to be correct) said to one of the sailors: “I will give a shilling to the chap who can give us the best news.” One of the men in the captain’s gig replied, “OK. We have taken Samoa.” Im mediately, all the Germans on the wharf left us English, and went and stood at the far end of the wharf, away from us.

There was a little German gentle man who came running down to hear the latest news. He was met by one of his British friends.

“Oh, what is the news?” he asked.

The Britisher replied; “Oh, have you not heard? Your friend the Kaiser put his hand into one of his trouser pockets, and said. ‘Mein Gott, I have lost one New Guinea!’

Then he put his hand into the other pocket and said; ‘Oh, I have lost Samoa (some more)!’” . The German was very annoyed, and went and joined his friends at the other end of the wharf.

We had an old German who acted as our butcher. I, as Inspector of Copra, had reason to condemn some of his copra, which was far from

good. It had been left out in very hot weather, and wals rotten. The old chap called one day and informed my wife that he would not supply us with any more fresh meat.

“I am sorry for you, my dear,” he said. “But your husband would not pass my copra, so you can starve. We Germans have plenty of cattle and noultry, and you British have none.”

However we srot over that nnd he returned in a few weeks and mea t t nued ‘° SUPPIy US With fresh When we were so long without a ship from New Zealand, all the stores were empty. There were no flour, tea, meats, butter—in fact,

we had nothing but a few tins of cabin bread or hard biscuits left, I had a friend on the Philomel and when he knew how we were situated he sent me a sack of fresh bread from the ship. This was most welcome. I handed it around b o a jl friends, especially those with children. My friend also sent me M} e newspaper on the ship— the latest edition of the NZ' Herald, carrying the early announcements This paper went the rounds? thTgfneraf Dubhc nS V^n a T bac/it was a complete rag got 1 A S a young boy, in 1890, I used to go with my brother to a native plantation on Saturdays, to collect ripe coconuts wherewith to

feed our fowls. We used to split the nuts and grate the flesh. It is the only food island fowls are fed on, and they do well on it, and get fat.

We always enjoyed the native Uma, or food cooked in a native oven, buried with hot stones. One day we were enjoying a good feast of yam, taro and what we thought was sucking-pig. After we had eaten one nice little leg, our friend asked us if we would like some more pork.

I replied no, thank you, and our friend then said; “Did you enjoy what you had?” “Yes,” I said. He asked if we knew what we had' been eating. I replied: “It was sucking pig, wasn’t it?” He laughed, and then went into the bush and brought out a big yellow wild-cat’s skin, and said: “You can tell your father and mother that you have had a good feed of cat.”

My brother and I were very sick

at the thought of having eaten cat, but it did not kill us.

Some 20 years later I returned to Tonga with my wife and children and, one day, an Island cart with a very old man, stopped at our gate.

I went out to see what he wanted, and he said: “Well, Jack, I have brought a bunch of ripe bananas for the children.” I thanked him and he said: “Do you remember me?” I said I did not, and he laughed and asked: “Don’t you remember tne cat we ate long ago?” He was my old boyhood friend. We had a chat about the old days—but I firmly declined his invitation to go to the bush next day for a feast in native style.